that time the "bung" that reached from the shore to Waterman's
Ledge (the rock where Pretty Quick met his fate) was broken up,
and the logs that composed it were started down river. There
remained now only the great side-jam at Gray Rock. This had been
allowed to grow, gathering logs as they drifted past, thus making
higher water and a stronger current on the other side of the
rock, and allowing an easier passage for the logs at that point.

All was excitement now, for, this particular piece of work
accomplished, the boom above the falls would be "turned out," and
the river would once more be clear and clean at the Edgewood
bridge.

Small boys, perching on the rocks with their heels hanging, hands
and mouths full of red Astrakhan apples, cheered their favorites
to the echo, while the drivers shouted to one another and watched
the signs and signals of the boss, who could communicate with
them only in that way, so great was the roar of the water.

The jam refused to yield to ordinary measures. It was a
difficult problem, for the rocky river-bed held many a snare and
pitfall. There was a certain ledge under the water, so artfully
placed that every log striking under its projecting edges would
wedge itself firmly there, attracting others by its evil example.

"That galoot-boss ought to hev shoved his crew down to that jam
this mornin'," grumbled Old Kennebec to Alcestis Crambry, who was
always his most loyal and attentive listener. "But he wouldn't
take no advice, not if Pharaoh nor Boat nor Herod nor Nicodemus
come right out o' the Bible an' give it to him. The logs air